Dire Hope
by Ferrilina
Summary: On the night of 74th Annual Hunger Games, Seeder and Chaff, the only victors District 11 ever had, watch the opening parade and observe the impressions the new tributes from District 12 had left on the Capitol. Caesar Flickerman and Johanna Mason make an appearance as well.


This year's parade had been a success, although, frankly speaking, Seeder wasn't sure how to feel about it.

Every year, the routine was essentially the same. Once the district kids safely got to the Capitol remake centre, where the prep teams would be scrubbing, shaving, waxing, and otherwise tormenting them, the mentors would get together and have a cup of coffee in order to catch up with the latest public developments of their respective districts and unwind. When the time came, they would slowly make their way to the tribunes to welcome this year's contestants.

It was there, sitting in her usual spot next to her district partner, Chaff, and her good friend, Haymitch Abernathy, that she first saw them. The tributes who, by now had become the main subject of the entire Capitol's talk.

The commentators had just expanded on the kids from District Six, both of whom looked very tired and miserable, when a roar had risen somewhere at the far end of the chariot ride. Everybody suddenly became impatiently curious, speeding up the program and only briefly acknowledging Districts Seven, Eight, Nine, and Ten before the two last chariots swam into view. With a pang of pain, Seeder registered that despite all their efforts, her tribute Rue had gotten only a one-word commentary from Claudius Templesmith before the real stars of the evening claimed everybody's attention.

Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark from District Twelve.

The girl was a beautiful olive-skinned brunette with her hair elaborately woven into several braids. Everybody already knew her name, seeing how much attention she had got at the reaping. She was waving and smiling to the crowd. Someone threw a rose at her, and she caught it. The crowd erupted into cheers; they already loved her. But most importantly, it were the costumes—set on fire, making the tributes bask in bright light—and the way how affectionately the girl held hands with her fellow tribute that called most of the attention.

Seeder bit her lip as several thoughts passed simultaneously through her head.

"Did you tell them to do that?" she heard Chaff inquire from Haymitch, who was sitting next to her.

"Yeah, that's me—the district matchmaker," Haymitch responded gruffly.

Seeder noticed he was thinking hard as well. She knew him well enough to guess that many of his thoughts were matching her own. Haymitch's tribute was getting too much attention, and as much as it made her uneasy because it left her own tribute, Rue, with far too little attention, she also understood the delicate position Haymitch's tribute was in.

People were not supposed to volunteer to save their little sisters; they were supposed to volunteer for the glory. Already this fact alone put the girl at risk: she was giving the Games an emotional meaning, which made her stand out in the eyes of all the other districts—something that President Snow would not fail to notice, since the very purpose of the Games was to dehumanise the districts of Panem and fuel hatred among them.

Chaff tried to question their old friend on that fiery debut, but Haymitch assured them he didn't have anything to do with the rebellious handholding. After the parade, he disappeared. It was unusual, seeing that most outside district mentors weren't really important or attractive enough to have any obligations after the parade, but Seeder had no time to reflect on it. She had her own tribute to look after for the rest of the evening.

Dinner was a quiet matter. While the food was in abundance and the dining room itself was lavishly decorated, none of them felt at ease, even though both Seeder and Chaff made sure to put their tributes as much at ease as possible.

Chaff's tribute, a large boy named Thresh, seemed inclined to maintain the stony silence he'd taken up already on the train, not speaking to any of them. Seeder wondered if he had spoken to Chaff at all, but it was not up to her to ask such questions. Rue, on the other hand, was busy tasting all the dishes, but was careful not to make herself sick. She was smart.

It wasn't until the dessert was served that things started looking even gloomier for Seeder.

Rue appeared to be rather interested in the orange cheesecake which a skinny Avox with ash-blond hair had just placed in front of her.

"Mmm! How they'd do that?" she asked eagerly, looking up at the Avox.

Seeder quickly attempted to save the situation. She assumed that what Rue really wanted to know was how the orange flavour was achieved. Although they came from the district that was in charge of agriculture, these kids had rarely ever been permitted to eat oranges, let alone use them in a recipe. Seeder briefly explained how orange juice was added to the fluffy icing before the mixture was applied to a cooled cake.

To her dismay, however, Rue suddenly took the plate with her piece on it and offered it to the blond Avox. Needless to say, the young man paled dramatically, shook his head and hurried out of the room.

"Rue, you are not to speak to an Avox unless it is to give an order," Seeder explained hastily, exchanging a glance with Chaff.

"An Avox is a person who committed a crime. They are not to be spoken to. It is forbidden. Avoxes are here to serve us," Chaff added. "Besides, they can't answer even if they wanted to—their tongues have been cut off for the crime they committed."

Rue's huge brown eyes had immediately acquired a fearful look of disgust, which Seeder knew all too well. All the kids from Eleven who had ever witnessed a severe public punishment wore that look.

Thresh was older and more controlled for it. His face remained almost unreadable—only his hands gripped the tablecloth a little too tightly—but he understood as well.

Seeder willed the kids to not discuss it further. Thankfully, they didn't.

The dinner was wrapped up rather hastily after that. By the time Thresh and Rue went to their respective rooms and Seeder tucked Rue to bed, it was already late, and so she settled down to read a historical metafictional novel.

While it might not be exactly the best of things to occupy her mind with, it was a decent way to pass time.

The events of the novel took place more than a century ago, when it had become clear that oceans had been rising at a much faster pace than anyone had suspected—which, in turn, as they now knew, would sweep all the coastal cities under water, marginally changing the shape of the continents.

North America hadn't been spared. As the coastal cities had been flooded, a chain of other natural disasters had been quick to follow, resulting in pandemics, which had quickly wiped off more than a quarter of the entire population. The remaining inhabitants had been forced to move inland, but as the country preceding Panem was still densely populated, the rapidly evolving diseases would travel with them.

The infected immigrants and refugees had naturally not been welcome, and to add insult to injury, the refugees from neighbouring Canada and Mexico had joined their ranks. In such circumstances, a civil war had been declared by one of the States in the country once known as the United States of America. The war had soon turned out to be even more devastating than the chain of natural disasters. A nuclear attack in the West of the country had turned a large chunk of the little land they had left inhabitable, and even more people had died. Even that, however, hadn't stopped the war. In the end, people had understood the devastating effects of their actions: not only a big geographical change, but also a big social change had occurred. The old notion of 'American' citizen had all but evaporated. The remaining population had essentially been a conglomerate of the former refugees, who would identify themselves in a completely different way than their American, Canadian, or Mexican predecessors. If, earlier, there had been racial and national conflicts as to who could consider themselves 'true' Americans, then now, only skeletons were left behind the old civilization, and so a new leadership had emerged. Panem had been founded.

The main hero of the novel, Jack Newton, who casually shared his name with a certain British scientist—presumably from even more centuries ago—travelled to South America with the specific mission of paving a way for the remaining population of North America to gradually move there. Whether there was any civilization left in the area that used to make up Argentine and Brazil, the novel did not specify.

Seeder would have continued reading, but shortly after midnight, there was a commotion. Chaff had returned from wherever he'd been.

"No sign of Haymitch?" Seeder asked, surprised not to see their old friend with him.

"He's not coming down. He's had a busy night—they invited him to one of those fancy places. Apparently, his tributes are hot stuff."

Seeder smiled faintly, not sure if the pun had been intended.

"He'd better be careful then," she said, vaguely implying that the cost of popularity in the Capitol, while vital, could also come at a price often too high.

"Speaking of popularity, put down that book of yours—let's see what tonight highlights are," Chaff suggested.

The hologram television flicked to life, just in time to reveal a pair of eye-catching wigs sitting atop two faces they knew so well: the dusk blue one of Caesar Flickerman, and the pale, curly one of Claudius Templesmith. The two maestros of speech were addressing themselves to the cheering crowd, an identical grin on their faces. Identical that was, except Caesar's was cheerful and relaxed. Claudius's smile, on the other hand, looked rather like the grimace of a man who had half a dozen fish bones stuck in his throat.

Seeder smiled wryly and put her book down with a sigh.

"I wonder whom they invited this time," Chaff mused over the booming voices from the immaterial screen. "It's been a while since they had the Morphlings for a public interview. Or Cecelia."

"Or us," Seeder grumbled.

He forced a half-hearted smile but did not answer. Silently, they watched the two hosts gesture towards the back of the stage; Claudius's intonation had risen two octaves in his effort to express his excitement.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," Caesar intoned, "let us introduce our first guest in this year's Games: the guest who needs no introduction!"

"We know him as our unparalleled inspiration in all things of beauty, the master of elegance, an unrepentant heart-breaker, and the most generous sponsor Capitol has ever known," Claudius sing-songed.

"Oh, joy," Chaff snorted.

"Ladies and gentlemen, a round of applause for our beloved, brilliant and infamous Ianus Dolman!" Caesar cried out, punctuating each adjective with an enthusiastic but graceful wave of his hand.

A deafening roar filled the room, and a dazzling white spot swam to the front of the hologram's image, growing as it did so. It was the familiar sturdy figure of a tall, majestic man in a snow-white suit of a shapely design. He had an arrogant albeit handsome face with regular features: a powerful nose, firm lips and somewhat sly eyes of a deep grey, lined with silver. His elegant goatee could rival Seneca's in its elaborate pattern. Slowly, he strutted forward, his hand rising towards the crowd in a lazy salute, and he flashed a smile as white as his outfit, though it did nothing to warm up the imperious hardness in his eyes. In Seeder's opinion, he looked like a white peacock. She knew such a bird existed, for she had seen it served during one of the opulent feasts in the Capitol.

"I think I still prefer my book," she said, reaching back for her volume.

"They were bound to invite him." Chaff's voice was calm, but his profile, his set jaw showed bitterness. "With his donations and his friendship with the President, they have little choice."

"Oh, Claudius doesn't seem to mind much," Seeder retorted. "Rumour has it they are on a first-name basis."

The same could certainly not be claimed of Ianus's relationship with Caesar, who, however, kept his manners as light and suave as ever.

"And once again, you stun us, but not surprise us," he declared jovially. "Look at this magnificent suit! Here I hoped to convince the entire Capitol that midnight blue was the most beautiful colour of all—"

"It's his favourite colour, hence his effort to force it into this year's fashion guide," Claudius threw in, addressing himself to the public with a conspiratorial wink.

"Indeed! But you, Ianus, have always been able to impose your own taste even to those who believe they know better! I don't know if I should thank you or resent you!"

The sponsor, now seated in a lavish armchair, flashed him another of his cold smiles. "Why, thank you, Caesar. You hardly have a reason to resent me: no one—least of all I—can dispute your fashion sense. This lily-white suit is my homage to President Snow, who remains, to this day, our greatest source of inspiration."

A murmur of assent spread through the crowd and mingled with the vigorous agreements of the two hosts.

Seeder was feeling less and less inclined to watch the interview, which was promising to be as pompous and obnoxious as anything Ianus Dolman ever participated in, and not in the least bit informative.

Caesar's next words, however, caused her to reconsider.

"And now, let us greet our second guest: one of our most beloved victors and mentors…"

"… one who leaves no spectator indifferent…"

"… and strictly between you and me, my very favourite victor," Caesar asserted playfully, "the striking Johanna Mason!"

Off to her side, Chaff let out a gasp of surprise. Then he turned towards her. "We're in luck. If there is someone who can make this entertaining, it's Johanna."

Seeder nodded absently, the book loose in her indecisive hands. And there she was, Johanna Mason, striding onto the stage in a red-gold dress which possessed the shape and the patterns of a maple leaf. The red streaks in her dark hair echoed the vibrant, autumnal colour of the fabric, and so did Johanna's lips and necklace. For some reason, Seeder felt an almost painful tug at her heart. This young girl, not even ten years older than some of that year's tributes, was a small volcano, one that nobody would want to set off, no matter how friendly it appeared. Yet her overflowing defiance, pride and loyalty could only inspire respect; even her famous temper rendered her endearing to certain mentors including those from Eleven.

Johanna's smile held much more warmth than Ianus's, in spite of the sarcastic spark that could be detected in her eye. She accepted the crowd's cheers with a raised arm and a friendly exclamation and then turned around to great the hosts. Chaff chuckled when she blandly held out her hand for Ianus to kiss, threw a few polite words at Claudius and then all but embraced Caesar in an effusion of affection. It took them two full minutes to end their banter—two minutes, from which Claudius and his guest were as good as excluded: a terrible offense, as far as their facial expressions could tell.

Unfortunately for them, it was only a beginning. The second Caesar asked Johanna to sit down, it became apparent there was no chair left for her. A rather odd blunder for as important an interview as this one. Seeder's supposition that this omission had been staged was promptly confirmed when Dolman rose to offer Johanna his own seat, only to be turned down.

"Thank you, Ianus; that's really sweet of you," she told him genially, and then, to everyone's amusement, she settled herself on Caesar's lap, causing the audience to erupt in an almost hysterical laughter.

The blue-haired man joined in with an expression of pleased surprise, but neither Seeder nor Chaff were duped: it had been planned all along. They exchanged a grin. Meanwhile, the sponsor sank back into his armchair, red-faced and more than displeased.

"Now, now, Ianus, is this a blush I detect on your face?" Johanna joked loudly, calling out on Ianus's earlier embarrassment. "Who would have thought? As far as I know, you have the reputation of being quite a connoisseur of beautiful women."

"Indeed I do," the man replied in his smooth, sly voice. "I am fortunate, however, to be a prey as much as I am a hunter."

Claudius _ooh_-ed and _oh_-ed at the suggestive declaration, and the audience laughed again—not harder than Johanna, though.

"Oh, I'm fully aware of the potency of your charms. But do forgive me if I hunt in a different forest; you see, my heart is wholly split between here-present Caesar and a certain handsome fisherman who steals the hearts of BOTH men and women."

The two mentors were now laughing hard, just like the crowd. The only ones who did not chuckle were the baffled sponsor and Claudius. It was up to Caesar to alleviate the growing tension, as usual.

"Oh, thank you, Johanna," he exclaimed. "I was beginning to worry you didn't like me anymore!"

"Not like you? How could you even think that?" Johanna retorted before catching the other host's sullen eye. "And don't pout, Claudius, we love you, too."

Dolman had had enough. His hand had risen to tug at his collar, and his grey orbs were now turned upon his corpulent friend with a blank yet dangerously sharp look. Claudius visibly understood the hint. His face flushing, he addressed himself off the stage. "A chair for Miss Mason, please!"

"True, let us all be seated comfortably," Caesar agreed as another chair appeared.

"Really, Caesar, weren't we rather comfortable already?" Johanna winked.

"Oh, Johanna, you are only one of the kind! But we can't be distracting the audience when we have so much to discuss, right, folks?" Caesar bantered, inviting the audience to play along, just as Johanna gracefully took her allotted place next to him, pouting only a little.

This was it.

Putting the book finally down, Seeder made herself comfortable on the couch, and Chaff subconsciously mirrored her movements. It was something people in the districts could never understand: the very presentation of the Hunger Games to the audience of the Capitol was arranged in such a way that they simply couldn't comprehend the horror of it. It was only a show to look forward too.

This was not to say that the citizens of the Capitol were heartless. No, there were many factors that played into their biased perception: firstly, the systematic brainwashing about the Hunger Games being something of a safeguard strategy protecting the entire population from the devastating wars their ancestors had witnessed, and secondly—and most importantly—the manipulation and control the Capitol citizens were unknowingly submitted to. Their daily life was arranged in such a way that any emotional and sometimes even physical closeness were something of a rare commodity, something they craved with all their being; and then, when they finally got to see the rawest and deepest emotions a human being was capable of, it was only through the Hunger Games.

Naturally, this was not the case for the likes of Ianus Dolman, one of the influential men of the Capitol who relished controlling everyone around them.

"Ianus, you are our most generous, perceptive and popular sponsor," Claudius simpered, as if determined to attract some of Caesar's spotlight back to his own persona. "Throughout the years, you have liberally contributed to the Games, and not only in funds, but also in helpful advice. We can say without a risk of exaggeration that your sharp eye and remarkable intuition for assessing the tributes' strengths and weaknesses have helped shape the Games and give them a direction, for you could always tell who deserved your voice and help."

"For those of you who don't know," Caesar added, "Ianus has supported many highly successful tributes, including our dearly beloved Enobaria."

Several huge pictures of the pretty olive-skinned young woman flashed around them to the general applause. Ianus looked on calmly, his smug expression back in place.

"So, like each and every year, we crave your expert opinion," Claudius went on. "What can you tell about this year's tributes? Who is the lucky boy or girl who has caught your eye?"

The sponsor fingered the flowery pattern on his carved snow-white walking stick that Seeder had not noticed before.

"Now, now, Claudius," he drawled roguishly, "it's too early to make such serious statements. I say, let our tributes have a chance to show themselves, to express their personalities in both exercise and speech. It would be only fair."

"True as ever!" Caesar cried out. "Seriously, though, Ianus, our audience longs to hear your opinion. And unless I'm much mistaken, many of our young citizens take your word as an authority before experience lets them shape their own point of view. Isn't that right?"

He beamed at the crowd, which roared its approval.

"No, it's not," Seeder ground out almost inaudibly through clenched teeth.

Thankfully, not _all _the 'young citizens' were like Dolman. Over the years, she and Chaff had met various people in the Capitol, who were able to see through the layers of manipulation and fiercely disapproved of the violence exerted by the Games. They were a minority, of course, afraid to speak out due to their fear of being turned into Avoxes, but they existed, and some of them even secretly helped fuel the rebellion, even if only a little.

"Caesar, do you really expect me to disclose my plans?" Ianus asked slyly back in the studio. "Even if I did have my preferences, it wouldn't be right of me to reveal them so early in the Games, now would it?"

Suddenly, Johanna intervened. "Allow me, Ianus. I'm pretty certain I can guess who, from this year's parade, has _caught your eye_, as Claudius so gracefully put it."

Dolman seemed puzzled but nodded with a look of polite interest.

"Hmm." She made a show of thinking hard, chewing on her lower lip. "Let me make a wild guess… District two, brunette. Looks very much like her mentor, and is most likely quite as fearless. Am I right?"

Caesar and Claudius clapped their hands in excitement while Ianus kept fingering his cane, his face carefully composed. He had only just opened his mouth to answer when she cut across him.

"Better yet: a man as elegant as you, and who is always on top of things, surely must have been intrigued by the fiery debut of another contestant. You know, the one everyone is talking about tonight."

A few cheers resounded, and the sponsor's face lit with a smile.

"You are very perceptive, charming Johanna. I do consider both tributes promising. Young Clove seems, indeed, to have all the courage and verve of her famous predecessor. As for the young lady from District Twelve, one would have to be blind not to notice her, and not just because of her stunning costume. Yes, I wouldn't hesitate to bet my money on her—unlike on some of our less _fiery_ tributes of the past."

"Pig," Seeder whispered savagely.

"He was bound to say something like that, seeing how she keeps daring him," Chaff remarked.

Johanna's guess struck Chaff as very accurate: he had noticed a certain pattern over the years, though neither he nor Seeder had given it a thought before. It was true, that Ianus Dolman seemed to support rather often the female tributes who matched certain criteria. The spirited dark-haired female tributes, to be exact. And while the public remained blissfully ignorant about the victors' private lives, most mentors knew only too well in what way Enobaria had been paying for Dolman's generosity ever since she had won the Games: much in the way Finnick would pay his old sponsors. Suddenly, Johanna's line of questioning didn't seem random—if anything, it was almost as though she were giving Haymitch a warning. A well deserved one, considering the fact that the poorest districts rarely had potential tributes worth exploiting by the Capitol's gamblers should they survive the Games, and hence the mentors could easily underestimate these dangers. Chaff looked over at Seeder and saw that she felt nervous for her own tribute, the sweet little Rue.

"Don't worry, Thresh and Rue will do just fine," he told her quietly but firmly.

He couldn't tell more, seeing how tightly surveyed their quarters were, but the look in his eyes was more eloquent than any words they could afford to say. Seeder relaxed slightly, half-appeased, half-apprehensive.

Johanna, meanwhile, was busy retorting to the sponsor's veiled insult. "Bah! Don't tell me you agree with those fan girls on the street, Ianus; I wasn't entirely serious earlier, you know. All that glitters isn't gold. If you ask me, District Twelve is quite overrated. This fiery costume is a product of her stylist Cinna, not hers."

This kind of attitude was smart of Johanna, this much was clear. She was directing the public attention away from District Twelve and paying her duty to her own tribute. As if on cue, Caesar offered a subtle counter-argument to make this transition smooth.

"These are some very valid points," he pointed out. "But it wouldn't be fair to assign this tribute's popularity solely to her costume—which, indeed, is most striking. We all have seen the reaping, where she so bravely volunteered for her sister, and I can tell for myself it made a most favourable impression on me."

The victor of District Seven only threw him one of her special feisty looks that almost made Seeder chuckle, although the conversation had become much too grave to be amusing. "So? For goodness's sake, Caesar, do you really think this was such a heroic thing to do? The girl is brave, I wouldn't deny it, but forgive me if I do doubt her intelligence a tiny bit—not to mention that she hasn't demonstrated any special skills yet. Keeping that in mind, I will rather have my reservations for now. There are other tributes we could place our hope in."

"And who would that be, lovely Johanna?" Caesar inquired with interest.

"Why, my own tribute, of course," she said with a small laughter, flashing a smile at the crowd.

This provoked another burst of good-natured chuckle in the audience.

"Some might think I go against the common public preferences on purpose," she went on, "but I genuinely don't consider any of our most acclaimed tributes best. In fact, I find it wise not to overestimate brutal strength."

Ianus raised an eyebrow in amusement. Like Seeder and Chaff, he must have detected a hint at Brutus and, by extension, at District Two in Johanna's last words.

"I quite agree," he said. "Take Cato, for instance. A promising young man he is: strong, determined, unflinching by the looks of it. It would be only wise to sponsor him, for I have no doubt he will continue the legacy of District Two and become one of this year's leading tributes. And yet, are these traits enough to make him a victor? Circumstances and the natural conditions play an immense part in every year's Games"-Claudius and Caesar nodded dutifully at this plain observation—"but we all know that it's human mind that is, ultimately, a man's greatest weapon."

"Wise words!" Caesar exclaimed. "Very well said indeed!"

Seeder only rolled her eyes at the sponsor's pompous speech. Johanna, however, narrowed hers with interest.

"Ianus, does this mean you would agree with my advice to pay special attention to the tributes of Districts Three and Five? Do you believe they stand a chance against such tributes as Cato and Thresh?"

The man's eyes glinted, as though she had touched a nerve. And Seeder thought she knew why. Despite his speech on the potency of human mind, Ianus seemed to despise the intellectual tributes. To say the least, he never gave out his money to support them.

"Everything is possible, my dear Johanna," he said in a controlled voice. "Although, we still have to see these tributes practise and display their talents before we can assess their prowess and their chances to defeat much stronger opponents by the sheer force of their wits."

"Districts Three and Five should never be underestimated, I quite agree," Caesar nodded vehemently, taking Johanna's hand in his own, "But Johanna, you mentioned meeting several fans on the street tonight? What could you tell us about it?"

"By all means, Caesar, let's sneak a peek," Johanna boldly proposed, slipping easily into the role of a co-host Caesar was offering her.

The hosts laughed and turned their attention to the large screen behind them, where a young woman with vivid green vines tattooed on her shaven head had appeared.

"Good evening, Cressida," Claudius Templesmith greeted. "How are you tonight?"

"Good evening, Claudius! I just couldn't be better, thank you. It's a full-scale party out here. Everyone was so amazed by the parade that I sincerely doubt anybody is going to be sleeping tonight. We just can't wait to see more of the tributes!"

The camera promptly cut to several people on the street whom Cressida was asking questions.

There were two little girls Rue's age, who were absolutely thrilled by Katniss Everdeen.

"She's _amazing,_" one of them exclaimed to the camera. "She is so beautiful!"

"I liked it how she held hands with that boy—he's so cute!"

The girls giggled. Cressida thanked them and moved on to interview some of the other jolly people on the street. There were a few young men, no older than seventeen, dressed casually but with a special Capitol touch, who somewhat awkwardly admitted Glimmer from District One had caught their eye. Seeder had the indistinct impression that the teens were trying hard not to openly stare at Glimmer's cleavage when her picture was shown magnified on the screens.

There were also a few people vaguely interested in Cato and Thresh, insisting there was something strong and mysterious about them, and even eerily predicting that things could get heated with two such strong players in the field.

Only a few people appeared to have liked Rue. An older lady burst into tears when Cressida asked her about the female tribute from District Eleven, which the reporter quickly interpreted as the 'emotional night taking its toll,' and a young street musician attributed some vaguely magical qualities to the girl, proving his point by telling everyone how Rue seemed to be able to blend with the others like a small fairy.

As Cressida interviewed more and more people on the square, however, it became plain that District Twelve had indeed stolen the limelight from the others. A great part of the interviewed citizens of the Capitol were eager to point out the cleverness of Katniss Everdeen, and many gentlemen agreed with Ianus Dolman that the girl appeared to 'have a spark'.

The feed cut back to the studio.

"Goodness," Caesar mused, "it is certainly very refreshing to see the tributes from Twelve give such a bright performance. I doubt I can even recall such enthusiasm ever since the charming Finnick Odair participated in the Games."

"It certainly is very unusual," Claudius agreed somewhat nervously. "And while both our guests are absolutely right not to be hasty with their decisions, it is already high time we reminded our viewers they can fully participate in the Games by supporting their favourite tributes. Ianus, you are an expert when it comes to offering support to the tributes, and I won't in the least bit exaggerate if I say that you are often the very life-line for those in the arena. Do you have anything special to say about the procedure of sponsorship?"

Ianus Dolman turned his arrogant face back towards the crowd, and Seeder took it as a sign that the show—, at least, its most important part—was over. She had heard the rules of sponsorship more times than she cared to. Her thoughts were starting to wander wildly, trying to assess all she had learned. At her side, Chaff was gazing thoughtfully at the dark window. For once, she could not read his expression.

Before she could address him, however, Caesar's vigorous voice claimed her attention—almost against her will. She thought how eloquently this showed his talent. Claudius could never hope to possess the same sort of magnetism.

Just as he was saying a cheerful goodbye to both the mentor and the sponsor, promising to see them soon enough in the course of the preparations for the Games, Ianus flashed him a dazzling smile, which he then promptly turned to the audience.

"You know, I'm quite fortunate to be there tomorrow at our tributes' first practice. Between you and me, Caesar, what would you give to be at my place for those precious few hours?"

The room roared with laughter. Caesar himself let out a cry of glee, his expression heartbroken. He admitted to a guffawing Claudius that he was very seriously considering giving up his midnight blue wig to be able to spend the following day in Dolman's shoes, when Johanna cut across them again.

"Then what would you give up to spend a day in _my_ shoes, Caesar? Remember: as a mentor, I get to see ALL that is happening in the training centre, all day long."

Chuckling at Ianus's expression, Chaff switched the hologram off.

"Would you rather like to—"

Chaff was going to ask if Seeder preferred to retire for the night when the question died on his lips.

Seeder was averting his eyes, hastily pretending to retrieve the book, which had fallen to the floor while they'd been watching the talk show.

"Seeder?" Chaff asked gently.

"I'm sorry, I'm just…"

She tried to explain her seemingly sudden outburst, but she simply didn't know how to put it into words. To anyone else, she would have seemed mentally unstable right now. One moment, she had been chuckling at the way Johanna was mocking of one of the Capitol's most influential sponsors, and then suddenly, she was wiping at her eyes.

It was just so terrible. So hopeless.

Yes, they were secretly organizing the rebellion; they had been doing so for years, trying to come up with suitable resources to defy the Capitol, as well as trying to find a suitable leader for the rebellion, but the tight control they were under rendered all their endeavours futile.

First, there was the Capitol's 'divide and conquer' policy standing in their way, and it was impossible to crush.

It manifested itself most acutely in the different treatment the districts received.

When Seeder herself had been reaped for the Games as a teenage girl, she had got the opportunity to see the kids from the other districts for the first time. It had been a novel and scary experience for her. Before that, she had never really given it a thought; she had never had a reason to-for her, like for every kid in Eleven, it had been all about working in the fields and supporting her family. And suddenly, there she was, staring at a loss when the kids from Three discussed something about Ohm's Law. In Eleven they'd never even heard of such a law. When she had dared to tentatively ask the District Three kids if Ohm was someone from the Capitol, they had just laughed. The Career kids, who had happened to overhear this conversation, had found her ignorance hilarious and had taken up the habit of imitating a monkey whenever she would pass them ever since that day. Seeder had rarely felt so humiliated in her life.

Later, she had understood. It was exactly what the Capitol wanted—to divide them to the point where one district wouldn't know anything about the other ones. Any communication between the districts was forbidden anyhow, and the Games only provoked mutual hatred.

How on earth were they going to explain this to numerous ignorant people and get them to rally against the Capitol?

The 'divide and conquer' policy was one thing, however. Another thing was President Snow's omniscient presence. It was as if he was always one step ahead of them, knowing all about their underground rebel movement and stalling it. At this rate, nothing would change. It was as if they were doomed forever, doomed to always slave and starve and bring innocent kids to the Capitol for slaughter.

"Come, let's take a shower," Chaff said, touching her shoulder with his good hand.

Seeder looked at him quizzically but didn't argue.

Once in the bathroom, Chaff took a pile of pristine white towels and carefully placed them in seemingly random locations, though he obviously knew where the surveillance camera was located. He then proceeded to turn on the water to muffle their voices.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" he asked.

"It's… it's everything," Seeder tried to explain. "I…"

"Is it because of Rue?" Chaff asked. "There is a lot more than sponsorship to the Games, and it's just the first night…"

His attempts at consolation were lame, he knew, which was why he feebly let go of them, and when Seeder interrupted him, he didn't argue.

"That's not it; it's just... Rue liked Katniss Everdeen at the reaping; she thinks they are kindred spirits. Rue has younger sisters, too, you know…"

"I see," Chaff muttered.

"It's not that I don't like Katniss Everdeen," Seeder tried to explain. "They all talk about her, but what do we really _know_ about her? For all we know, she might turn out to be another Cashmere…"

Chaff sighed.

He knew the story of the sibling victors from District One. All the older victors did. Gloss had been something of a predecessor to Finnick Odair. He had won the Games as a teenager, and his charisma, which had been noticed already prior to the Games, had started working against him. Before he had been reaped, he had excelled in chemistry. District One was responsible for the Capitol's luxury products, which also entailed perfumery and cosmetics. There were even annual competitions where the winners gained scholarship to study in the Capitol. As such, most of the Capitol's best beauty surgeons were, in fact, from District One. The public didn't know because once the scholarship was granted to a winner, this person was obliged to change their identity and cut all their ties with the district.

Gloss had managed to combine his love of chemistry with athleticism, and when he had become famous, he would entertain the public with various witty jokes about his hobby in such a way that even those who didn't know much about chemistry would understand. All of this had made him interesting to certain influential friends of President Snow. It hadn't helped that he possessed what was considered 'classically attractive' features.

As far as Chaff knew, there had been some kind of a row between the victor and the President. As a consequence, Gloss's sister had been reaped for the Games in the year to come.

The bond between the siblings was strong, and the whole nation of Panem had shared their grief. Once Cashmere had got to the arena, however, it was as if she had transformed. No trace had been left of the sweet little angel she had appeared to be in the interviews. She had literally butchered her way through the Games, killing viciously everyone she could, not sparing even the younger and weaker tributes. After Cashmere's victory, both siblings became equally popular. Capitol darlings who mostly kept to themselves.

Seeder was obviously afraid the history was going to repeat itself.

Chaff shook his head, making Seeder face him.

"I don't think it will be the case," he said firmly. "Cashmere is a Career. She had been trained since childhood, not to mention it is very likely for her to have had a predisposition for brutality all along, and the Games only set it loose. You and I have also been in the Games. Just like Cashmere, we were placed into inhuman conditions, but did we start murdering people? No, all we did was try to survive. If anything, Haymitch's girl is rather like us rather than Cashmere. A survivor, not a killer."

Seeder nodded, not completely convinced. She _really_ wanted to hope so, but she was so afraid. The future was so dire.

"Listen," Chaff said again, "we will observe her during the training, and if there's any doubt, we will talk to Haymitch. He has been our friend ever since we met him, and if there is anything dangerous about his girl, he is obliged to tell us, all right?"

"All right," Seeder all but whispered before her eyes filled with fresh tears. "I just want to protect Rue, Chaff. You've seen her—she's just a child! I wish there was a way to protect her from that arena... I wish there was some way to... to stop this. Is it wrong of me to feel this way?"

"No, it is not wrong," Chaff assured, embracing her again. "Trust me, I understand."

She knew he did, and she stayed in his arms.

"It is going to be a rough year for all of us," Chaff's low voice went on somewhere above her ear, for she had her face hidden in his muscular chest. "We must stay strong."

"What do you mean?"

"I met Beetee earlier. His boy knows a lot about mines and explosives: he used to work at the factory and take engineering classes..."

Seeder vaguely recalled the tributes from District Three. Two skinny kids.

"Isn't he only twelve?" she asked, astonished.

"Fourteen," Chaff specified. "He's just malnourished, which is why he looks so small. He learned about explosives in pretty much the same way as Rue learned about the night vision goggles."

Seeder nodded. There was nothing to say to this. People from the districts were exploited in every possible way. In District Eleven, when it was time to collect the crops, people were forced to work even at night. Children were no exception. They were handed night vision goggles and sent out into the fields with armed Peacekeepers controlling their every move. In District Three, which was the district of technology, the kids were obviously forced to assemble various electronics.

"Is Beetee's boy interested in alliances?" Seeder asked absently.

"He wants to impress the Careers. He thinks they are going to keep him fed. Beetee is unhappy about it."

"Well, I wouldn't be happy, either," Seeder declared vehemently. "What is he thinking? They are going to use him and then just stab him in the back!"

"Yes, that's true, but the boy seems stubborn, difficult to convince. I only hope the Careers won't make him commit any atrocities before they kill him... Anyway, for now, I would only advise both our tributes to avoid Beetee's boy in case he allies himself with the Careers. And as to Haymitch's girl... well…"

"I know," Seeder assured him. "I care about Haymitch, too. I wish I didn't have to have this conversation at all... It's the Games! They are designed to make us hate each other. I just…"

"Just choose your words carefully, and Haymitch will understand. All right?"

He kissed her lightly, and she let him.

For a moment, they just stood there until it occurred to Seeder that they should remove the towel from the lens of the hidden camera before the people in charge of the surveillance got suspicious.

"They'll now turn their cameras off anyhow," Chaff dismissed. "I bet they're grossed out at the sight of a crippled old drunk with the manners of a pigsty harassing a beautiful woman like you in her bathroom…"

Seeder gave him a watery smile. "One day with Haymitch Abernathy, and you already sound as sarcastic as he does."

"Oh, well, what can I say? District Twelve will corrupt us all—bad manners are catchy…"

"Oh, shut up," she joked lightly.

"Really? Does it mean I can't call you _sweetheart_? Hmm... I'll let Haymitch know his tips aren't working."

Seeder smiled in earnest at this before it dawned on her he was already leaving; his hand was resting on the doorknob.

"Chaff…" she called after him, never bothering to finish her sentence, a hint of desperation in her voice.

He understood.

He stayed with her that night, caressing her, holding her as she let her tears flow. It had been a very exhausting day with the District Twelve tribute providing a rather flaming start, full of a strange hope. But Seeder's heart was only aching for the innocent and selfless child, who hadn't hesitated to share a piece of cheesecake with a total stranger, even though she had never had a proper meal in her whole life. Another innocent child who had been brought to the Capitol to die.

* * *

><p><strong>An<strong>: If it was a comedy genre, this story would have ended with Thresh discovering the mentors in a rather awkward position in the shower. However, it's not the case. Instead, I would like to thank my dear friend **Tilphousia**, who is a co-author of this story.

As to my general thoughts about "Hunger Games" saga, then I'll be frank with you. I think it's not well written and not well executed, but there are some very deep thoughts in it. Had the author bothered to tackle these aspects, it would have been a somewhat more thought provoking dystopian novel. I am chiefly speaking about means Capitol used to achieve complete control over the districts, so that they were so beaten down that they didn't rebel against the Hunger Games for almost a century. Besides systematic starvation of the population (and other kind of deprivation), there must have been layers and layers of complex strategies messing with the very way of thinking of people, making them accept such practices in a natural way (similarly to how we accept, let's say, single parenting). I wish there had been more discussions of such regard in the books; how exactly does a dystopian world-view form in the eyes of ordinary people. However, since it's not an option, **Tilphousia** and I decided to lightly touch upon these issues in our story through the eyes of the mentors.

And, well, to those of you who are surprised at the Chaff/Seeder development in the end - they're two sexy people, come on? ;)

All recognizable characters belong to Suzanne Collins. No copyright infringement intended.


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